


You Speak To Me.

by Bitsy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitsy/pseuds/Bitsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately after the events in Sokovia, Wanda ponders her new existence. And the existence of a vision, a vision held by a world-killer. Her Vision is different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Speak To Me.

Upstate New York was a place Wanda never thought she would be. A child of the continent, a child of Europe, a child of the old world, she had the typical prejudice against America. Loud. Brash. Imperious. New York especially. An American place should match its American people, rude and impetuous. And yet, this quiet, bucolic place in upstate New York was perfect. The forests were green and silent and secret, the new facility subtle and understated.

Wanda tried so hard not to give into her childhood prejudices. She really did try. Even here, in America.

She was curled up in her room, in the new Avengers facility. Curled up with a copy of The Fountainhead in her lap, her flowing skirts pooling around her ankles, her bare feet tucked up under her buttocks. (Yes, she admitted it, she had a soft spot for any author from the motherland. Even Rand. Even Marx. Even Tolstoy. Even Dostoyevsky. She would gladly pick up any writer from the former republic, even if she disagreed with their philosophy.

Not that she had any philosophy to begin with.)

When she was a girl, she only knew her toys, her dolls, her family. When she was a teenager, she only knew what the _others_ wanted her to believe. She never thought for herself, never wanted anything for herself, never dissected the world with its multiple points of view. She was so young when her family died. So young when Pietro huddled with her under their bed, cowering from the missile that threatened to end her world. So very, very young. Now. Now. Now she was not only encouraged to think for herself, she had to. Her other half was gone. Pietro was _gone._ Cut down by Ultron's bullets. 

Nobody understood that. He was her heart. Her heart! She felt every single slug slicing through his body, every single gasp of his lungs as he died. She had promised the Avengers she would protect the trigger in Sokovia. But when Pietro had died, she had forgotten the world in the face of his death. And she felt no shame in that. Her very other self was gone, his breath driven from his lungs by bullet fire. Nothing could keep her together after that. Except. _Except._

Except the figure she refused to acknowledge now. The figure that wore its cape, and stood strong, and bore the hammer of the gods. The figure that she saw, she saw when it was first born, she saw when Ultron was inscribing its very self into it.

Vision.

_Vision._

She gripped her book tighter, her fingers curling against the hard back of the spine. She refused to look up. She refused. Nobody could interrupt her here, she'd been promised by...Stark. Súložiť. She really should have figured out something else. Some other method of security, instead of relying on Stark's methods.

"What?!" she snapped, curling up tighter on her bed, snapping her book closed and wishing she could make herself invisible. 

"...May I come in?"

The cultured accent of the Vision was so genteel, so delicate. So old world, here in the new world. She was tempted to be rude, for just one moment. But she could not. She couldn't, not when she had the memory of his arms firmly around her, scooping her up from the ruins of Sokovia, flying her to safety when her first instinct was to die. 

"...Fine."

The door to her bedroom swooshed open. Not like a normal door, but sideways, like the door in a market. Wanda hugged herself, her arms around her middle, as the Vision stepped in. And she was surprised to notice that he was... _shy._ The creation of Ultron and Tony Stark and Thor was shy. He held himself back, blue eyes blinking, chin down, shoulders back. The artificial intelligence was all too human in its body language, and glanced down at the floor when faced with the girl it....knew.

"Hello, Wanda."

"...Hello."

The woman and the artificial man faced down over a span of ten feet, unable to formulate something other than a polite greeting. And yet she could not bring herself to dismiss this robot, this AI, this nothing. Nothing. It was nothing. And yet... it wasn't.

The Vision sat down in a chair across from her, his body language neutral and innocent, its hands on its lap. And Wanda refused to see him.

"You're upset with me."

Vision was too perceptive, that was the problem. She was the perceptive one, she was supposed to see everything and everybody. She was supposed see and understand and absorb it all. But this man...this robot, this thing, it saw everything before she did, born into it as she never was. She volunteered for this power, and this thing across from her was created for it. And it made her skin crawl. Nothing should have this much understanding. Nothing.

"I'm really not," she assured the monster, her arms curling across her shins. "You're just what the world deserves."

"Oh, Wanda."

She finally looked up at that, eyebrows knitted over her nose, tight and confused. And she saw the man in front of her for the second time. She couldn't help the small, frightened noise that escaped her as she acknowledged the supreme being at her forefront. Nobody could be faulted for that. Wanda let out a slow sigh as the Vision sat down across from her, his chin on his knees. He glowed, that was the unfair part. He glowed with an inhuman light, the mind gem infusing him with an aura that no mortal could hope to achieve. But then again, this was no mortal across from her.

"You're not human."

"No. I'm not." The Vision didn't do anything as crude as staring at its hands. No. It was beyond that now. It knew its physical form and limitations. It knew what to look for, beyond hands and arms and legs. "But then again, Wanda...neither are you."

She didn't react for a long moment, tracing her fingers along the stylized man holding up the title of the book. His shoulders were perfect...but paled in comparison to the fake man in front of her. She wasn't sure if the fake man or the fantasy man could possibly stand up to her needs.

"I'm not," she agreed, pushing the book aside. "I was made by a madman, to defend a lost dream. But even Strucker couldn't imagine the true end of the human race. I don't want that. I really don't."

"I know."

She was suddenly furious, suddenly ready to rise up against this machine's assumptions. She'd been through far too much, to fall to this robot's assumptions. She suddenly stood, her hand rippling red with her powers, rippling with the need to erase her origin, to prove this machine wrong. But the placid gaze from those lifelike blue eyes defeated her, defeated her before she could raise an attack. She stared into those eyes helplessly, her hands sagging to her sides. And the Vision stood, stood to cross to her, and take her hands in his.

"Wanda...you're so lost. I want to help you. You worked so hard to protect me, I know...I _feel_ I should stand by you now."

"I'm...not."

"You are."

She gritted her teeth, clenched her jaw, and was just about to pull herself back and refuse his offer. But then...but then...she sagged. She let herself give into it, let herself drop her head against Vision's shoulder, let herself forget the context of her life, of Pietro's life. So call it selfish. Nobody would understand, she knew it. She hated herself for wanting something other than what she had with her brother, even now. She was so alone, she wanted more. She needed more. And then, here was Vision, offering her more than just a momentary bond.

"No..." she hissed, turning away, even as Vision took her in his arms. How did an AI know how to do this? How did a robot know that a human woman needed comfort, without the algorithm of a robot? How? Tony Stark had a lot to answer for.

"Yes."

Vision took Wanda in his arms, embracing her and holding her, as she melted into the need. Forget sex, forget gender, forget a man and a woman. Vision had a duty to Wanda, and he would fulfill it, like he had fulfilled his duty to Earth, to the world. And yet, it felt more important than a world-saving mission. It felt far more personal. It felt... _right._

"Oh, no," she murmured, her head buried in his chest.

"Oh, yes," he said back, his voice steady and warm. "We're meant for just this, Wanda."

"I know," she answered back, her voice low and hidden. "That's why we're in trouble."


End file.
